


Back For Good

by ferowyn



Series: XMFC - Cherik Playlist [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Cherik - Freeform, I mean it!, M/M, Multi, after the beach, this is ridiculously fluffy, what the title promises, xmfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik wants to visit Charles - to find out how he is, to say sorry and maybe to make amends for having left him at the beach, shot and hurt. But he never goes. Until Lassie turns up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back For Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt at the XMFC kink meme:  
> http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/806.html?thread=674342#t674342  
> (And it's also partly a fill for this prompt: http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/806.html?thread=6075174#t6075174 - kind of.)
> 
> I hope that none of the gifts I came up with turned up in DOFP, I haven’t seen that one yet.
> 
>  
> 
> **Take That - Back For Good**
> 
> _Whatever I said, whatever I did,_   
>  _I didn't mean it_   
>  _I just want you back for good_

### Back For Good

Charles is standing at the window, staring outside.

He seems to be far away with his thoughts, for he does not react when Erik peaks in through the door and then closes it after he has stepped into the study.

Still, Charles has not moved.

The telepath should have felt his presence by now!

Now a little worried about something else than how the other is going to react to seeing him he takes a hesitating step towards his old friend, and another.

No reaction.

Just when Erik considers saying something – he does not want the other one to feel like he has snuck up on him, after all – the voice he has been craving to hear in all those months resounds in the wide room.

“Erik.”

That is all the telepath says, and he does not turn around, but the worry seeps from Erik’s heart until it is racing due to a different panic.

“Charles,” he croaks, and hates how insecure his voice is.

He steps into place next to the other and stares outside as well, trying to see what has captured the younger one’s attention like this. His eyes fall upon the huge dish he managed to move with Charles’ help all those months ago. His heart drops when he inadvertently ponders how much time the telepath might have spent reminiscing that moment which had been so special to both of them.

“I’m glad you finally came,” Charles says eventually, after both of them have stood in front of the window for quite some time.

Erik clears his throat. “So am I,” he admits, slowly.

He has never been particularly good at having heartfelt conversations (normally he does not have any) or admitting that he is wrong (normally he is not), and he knows that he owes the younger one a sincere apology. Thus he pulls all those thoughts and his emotions to the surface of his mind, and – having left the helmet behind in the first place – mentally screams them at this one person who means so much to him.

Charles’ eyebrow twitches as he takes what is given so freely.

For a few moments he simply listens, before slowly turning his head.

The smile Erik has come to love so much is curving his lips upwards.

“You stupid idiot! Of course I still love you!”

Erik finds himself unable to supress the smile that is fighting its way onto his lips in response, but he still does not dare – does not _allow_ himself – to believe it. “I shot you,” he whispers. “I… I hurt you, and then I left! How- …”

“It was an accident,” Charles says, his voice stupidly, wonderfully soft. “You didn’t mean to hurt me.” _How I can forgive you?_ his voice resounds in Erik’s mind. _I would forgive you almost anything. I love you. But – promise me. Never leave me again!_

“I promise,” Erik swears, and he truly means it. “I love you, too. Oh god, I love you so much!”

He has barely said that when Charles throws himself at him, a ridiculously beaming smile on his lips. The older one catches him easily, holding him close before setting to kiss that breath-taking smile off his beloved’s lips.

“I’ll never leave you again, Charles. I swear,” he whispers into the telepath’s ear after they have parted again.

Charles smiles and rests his head against the older one’s chest. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’m glad you came back.”

“So am I,” Erik answers, again. “I just wish I would’ve found the courage to do so sooner. I lo-”

 

Suddenly everything, including Charles, fades away.

And as the mattress beneath his body assumes shape the pain returns, ripping and tearing at his heart and setting it on fire upon the realization that this has been just _another_ dream.

That he still has not found the courage to go and talk to Charles.

“Erik?” a woman’s voice tears him from his thoughts.

Only then does he realize that he has been woken, and probably for a reason. Still, he cannot help but feel angry that she has taken those shorts moments of perfection.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your pretty dreams, but-”

She stops short, then, probably due to the dark scowl on Erik’s face. Not only has she chased Charles away – he has asked her not to mess with his mind, _ever_ , unless he tells her to! His blood is boiling now, pumped through his veins by a burning heart, and he wants to explode in a mixture of anger at being disobeyed and pain due to Charles having been taken from him once _again_ (he still does work best on anger and pain, and he still hates Shaw for it); however, before he has the chance to do so Emma hurriedly explains herself: 

“You project your thoughts. Whenever you dream about him, you project it outwards and I can’t help but witness it. Every detail.” A flash of a toothy grin (usually his dreams do not stop after the kiss, unless he is woken). “I wasn’t prying, I swear.”

And from the way she is looking at him, from the pity in her eyes and the rigidness in her stance (she must have felt some of his agony, too, he supposes) he knows that she has not read the question (How could she know??) in his thoughts, but in his face.

“You have visitors,” she then says before he can ask. “Better hurry, one of them is rather impatient.”

With that she is gone and Erik shakes his head, trying to banish the last remnants of his dream, before using his fingers to brush his hair into what could almost be called presentable. There is nothing he can do about the circles underneath his eyes.

With a sigh he makes for the living room of the cottage they are currently living at.

This will probably be other mutants again.

Ever since the humans have realized their existence, in those precarious moments between peace and nuclear war, it has been all over the news and somehow they managed to get a picture of him which has been broadcasted into the world. Since then other mutants have been coming, mutants who have been hiding their entire lives, to meet him. Some came to stay (a few of those who had nothing but themselves and their powers), but most just wanted to meet others, to know that they were not alone, before taking off again and returning to their almost (but never truly) ordinary lives.

Somehow they all managed to find him, no matter how well he has hidden.

Wondering who he will meet today, and how in God’s name they managed to find this new hideout, he steps into the room.

Emma and Mystique are there, together with three strangers; the shapeshifter currently entertaining their guests with taking the bodies of well-known politicians and actors, switching between the various people with a frankly alarming speed.

She stops, however, when she sees him enter and for a few moments he stares into Mahatma Ghandi’s eyes before turning to greet the newcomers.

“I’m Magneto,” he introduces himself, having taken to using that name after all. “And you are?”

One of them – a young man with hip-length black hair and Asian features – stands and bows slightly. “I’m Shots; and those are Tracker and Lassie. We wondered… we were lucky, we found each other some years ago and have stayed together ever since, away from _normal_ people. However, we wondered… whether we could come with you?”

Erik looks at them tiredly. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” he repeats that old joke, and, oh, the wish to have Charles standing next to him is overbearing.

The three exchange short looks. “There… isn’t much to show,” Tracker, a tall muscular man with hands like plates and a beard that would make Tolkien’s dwarves pale with envy, of as red a colour as his short unruly curls, says. In his chequered lumberjack shirt he certainly meets one or another stereotype. “I… I’m a tracker, like my name says. I can find anyone I want; if only I know I’m looking for them.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. That certainly is a useful ability. Also, it explains how they found the cottage.

“Shots is immune to the gifts of other mutants… at least to those which affect the body directly, like mental powers or poisons. Well, as far as we know. We haven’t had many possibilities to verify our theories.” Tracker gives Erik an expectant look.

Charles would love this, he cannot help but think and ignores the way his insides hurt at that, instead shooting Emma a meaningful look. The White Queen turns her piercing eyes to bore into Shots’ and concentrates, but the Asian obviously remains unaffected, as well as a little confused.

Emma stops trying when small pearls of sweat appear on her forehead. “Amazing! Angel should try her luck, too, when she returns!”

Ghandi’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t know whether her gift directly affects the body the way Tracker described,” he says with the accordingly accented voice.

Erik rolls his eyes. “Please, stop it. This is disturbing!”

He receives a toothy grin, before a shock of blue runs across Ghandi’s body and Erik is looking at the stony face of a statue of Socrates.

Shots snickers. “I like her,” he declares and receives a marble grin for it.

Groaning, Erik shakes his head. “Back on topic!” he demands. “Lassie, what can you do?”

The tiny, petite blonde stares at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“She probably won’t talk until she knows you much, _much_ better,” Tracker explains. “She has… trust issues.”

Erik inclines his head. That is something he understands very well. “We won’t pressure her,” he promises. “But may I still ask what she can do?”

“Heal,” is Shots’ short answer. “Wounds. Sicknesses. All that stuff. As longs as it’s not too severe, she can help.”

For a moment, Erik freezes. When he retakes control over his body he realizes that he is staring at Mystique (who has returned to her natural form) and he knows that both of them are thinking the same.

They will have to visit Charles. Neither of them knows how he is, but – maybe – she might be of help if he still is in some kind of pain.

(In this moment it does not matter that Erik has left Charles behind, alone and hurt, and has gone without looking back. It does not matter that he has not found the strength and courage to return, and apologize. It does not matter that Erik has been dreaming about going, but never made it reality. All that matters is _Charles_.)

It is Emma’s turn to roll her eyes. “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as Azazel returns,” Erik answers. “We will need his help.” He then turns to look at Lassie. “I… a friend of mine has been shot, in the back. Would you… mind taking a look, see whether you could help him?”

The blonde shivers, but nods slowly. “I… can try,” she whispers.

Mystique’s relief is almost palpable and Erik thinks that, probably, his is too.

“We have a friend who will teleport us there,” Emma explains. “Would you mind travelling that way?”

Lassie exchanges a few short looks with Shots and Tracker, before she shakes her head.

Tracker smiles. “As long as we can stay with you, and you take us along – we won’t let her go alone – she’ll come.”

Erik just nods. “Of course. Now, if you excuse me? I will prepare what is necessary. Alert me when the others return and we are ready to leave?” He gives Emma a questioning look and she just nods, her eyes trained on where Churchill is seated on the sofa, using that very moments to switch places with Napoleon after a shock of blue.

Shaking his head he rushes for the tiny room he has claimed as his, desperate for a few minutes to sort through his thoughts. He knows, the others are due to return any minute – possibly with another newcomer in tow – and he is definitely too close to panicking to be able to leave.

Taking a deep breath he grabs his helmet. Unlike in his dreams, he is definitely _not_ going to leave it behind.

Not when he is on his way to visit Charles without having made this decision because of what it might mean for _them_ but because of what might be a chance to at least partly make amends for his mistakes.

In an attempt to calm himself down and get at least some distraction he stands before the huge poster on the wall – a map which is filled with pins and short notes describing his next plans. Tiredly he stares at the tiny bright blue (the only one of that colour) pin at the very northeast corner of Westchester County. Charles has always been the one plan he has never really planned acting on. Suppressing a scream he clenches his fists as the pain once again hits him. No tears, he preaches himself as he squinches his eyes shut, not watching the blue pin is being torn from the map and crumbling, before shooting out of the just opening window.

Goddamnit!

 _Magneto, you ready to go?_ resounds in his head that very moment and for a second he curses Emma, himself, Charles and the world, before putting the helmet on and rushing to meet the others in the living room, still blinking away the last defiant tears.

The scene he stumbles into shows that at least his other friends and followers will have no problem with the three newcomers, they seem to have made fast friends.

Carmen is sitting on the sofa with her eyes closed and a content smile on her blood red lips, her body juddering with the beat of the rock music that is resonating in the room (at quite a decent volume, he has to admit, after all he did not hear it in his room). She cocks her head and the music slows down a little; and as she hums the bass is becoming heavier, deeper, more seductive. Shots grins and leads Marilyn Monroe (who has yellow eyes) into a slower dance with his left hand, the right one being held by Angel who is once again dancing as she is flying, moving her lithe body in admittedly rather sinful ways.

Blackie is sucking the light from the room at varying intervals, creating basically the effect of a stroboscope and from Tequila’s grin, he has graced at least half of them with an intoxicating kiss as he leads the young dark-skinned lightbender in a fast dance that does not exactly fit the music Carmen is producing.

Tracker and Lassie are dancing as well, in a corner, exchanging content smiles. The healer looks tiny next to her huge friend, but the two fit together… somehow.

While Emma, Azazel and Riptide are standing to the side of the commotion, obviously feeling very grown up, mirth is dancing in their eyes as well. All of them enjoy the high spirits that have entered their lives due to the youngsters. Shaw’s regime must have been quite a bit different.

Almost reluctant to rain on their parade Erik sighs before whistling loudly, and watching as everyone calms down again.

Tequila looks a little intoxicated after having retrieved all of his poison (which, if taken in low doses, has similar affects to alcohol) at once; leaving everyone but himself sober.

“I see you get along,” Erik remarks, dryly. “I’m sorry to interrupt; however, I would like to leave now. Who will be coming along?”

He is not surprised when Marilyn takes the blue-skinned form of Mystique again as she steps forward, together with the three newcomers. As Azazel motions for them to form a circle holding hands (Tracker’s has never left Lassie’s – Erik does not miss the short, possessive kiss pressed to her lips from Shots on her other side, though) Magneto darts Emma a short glance.

The White Queen smiles. “Riptide and me will hold the fort,” she jokes. “If you should decide to stay there, send Azazel to collect us.”

Erik nods and then looks at Azazel expectantly.

They have not yet left the room when the music flares up again, but the transporter takes them out before Erik can even roll his eyes.

And he forgets to do so when he is suddenly standing in front of X-Mansion, staring at the aloof walls and windows that were once so welcoming.

“You never asked for our real names,” Lassie’s low, shy voice tears him from the stupor he has found himself in.

Slowly he turns his head, stares at her. “This… is who we are,” he answers, slowly.

Shots and Tracker are holding her hands, one each.

Seeing a happy, functioning relationship hurts.

“I’m Magneto as much as I’m Erik.” Or at least, he will be if he keeps staying away from Charles. For Charles… he will always be Erik. “If you introduce yourself as Lassie, it’s what I’ll call you. It’s all I need to know.”

Lassie smiles. “And it also tells you quite a lot about what I can do,” she remarks, obviously feeling quite safe between her two men. “That, of course, is rather useful as well.” She hesitates for a moment. “I’m Joanna. Nice to meet you, Erik. Don’t tell anyone.”

A short laugh escapes Erik’s lips. “Nice to meet you, too. Don’t worry, I won’t.”

With that he turns his head back to stare at the mansion and, after a taking a last deep breath, he makes himself walk towards it, his steps as determined as he can manage. Another deep breath is necessary before he rings the bell, his heart racing with fear and guilt and hope as he waits for the door to be opened.

He probably is not able to hide his disappointment when his gaze falls upon blue fur instead of blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Hank asks, and his voice is rather hostile.

“We came to see Charles,” Mystique chips in and for a moment Hank’s eyes widen, before his face becomes a mask again.

“Then you might as well turn around and leave.”

“We can’t,” Erik speaks up for the first time.

“You’re the last one who can make demands here,” Hank spits.

“What’s going on out here?” a voice speaks up in the background and the door is opened a little farther, revealing Havoc. “What are _you_ doing here?” he immediately asks upon seeing Erik, even more hostile than Hank.

“We came to see Charles,” Erik repeats what Mystique has already said, this time continuing before any of the two can interrupt him: “Lassie here,” he nods at the girls who is halfway hidden behind Tracker “is a healer. We thought…” He stops when he sees the look Hank and Havoc exchange, dread pooling in his stomach, and when the blue furball steps to the side he sees his fear confirmed:

Charles _does_ need the help of a healer.

“You might as well come in,” Hank murmurs. “But I’m not sure how he will take your presence. Also… who are the other two?”

“Tracker and Shots,” Mystique introduces crisply. “Can we discuss this _after_ we’ve seen him?” She is already on her way towards the staircase leading up to the third floor, where Charles’ office should be, having pushed Alex to the side quite unceremonially in order to get in.

“Wait!” Hank calls, stopping her. “He’s over here.” He indicates at the doors separating the ground level corridor from the entrance hall. After one last hesitating moment he shows the way. “Come.”

Erik has to admit that he is rather surprised when they stop in front of an office that had been used as a storage room when he had still lived here with the others, training to take down Shaw.

Hank raises his hand to know but freezes mid-motion, before nodding slowly. He turns around, then, and stares at Erik; his features somehow quite different from before.

“What are you doing here, Erik?”

It takes the metalbender quite a few moments before he understands that this is Charles he is talking to, Hank having allowed him to borrow his body. It seems he _really_ does not want to see them.

“I…” Erik hesitates. This is the moment he has been dreaming of. (However, in his dreams he was not wearing a helmet designed to keep the other one out, and he was not talking to a furball instead of him.) “I have met a healer today, and figured that she might take a look at you. After all… when I left you… you were shot.”

The laughter dropping from Hank’s blue lips is shockingly bitter. “Was I?”

Erik gulps, looks away. This is not the buoyant, always optimistic Charles he has fallen in love with.

“I doubt that she can help me, but please, send her in.” With that Hank’s stance changes and all of them know, Charles is gone from his mind.

Hank sighs and moves to open the door, motioning for Lassie, Shots and Tracker to step into the room. However, when Mystique and Erik want to follow them they are stopped.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

Immediately, Mystique’s yellow eyes tear up.

Hank sighs. “He does not want to see _Erik_ ,” he specifies. “Not with that ridiculous helmet on. And he does not want you, Raven, to see him like this.”

Mystique, too shaken to complain about the name he used, opens her mouth to ask, but Eric is faster. “Like what?”

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this, either, if he still cared,” Hank elaborates, his voice angry.

Erik chokes on his breath.

_If he still cared._

So it really is too late.

Still, he wants to, _needs_ to know. “Like what?” he repeats, his voice having tilted to the threatening side.

Hank defiantly raises his kin; however, before he gets the chance to answer the door opens and Lassie is leaving the room together with Tracker. Upon seeing the hopeful look on Hank’s and Havoc’s faces she hangs her head.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I… I can’t do anything about wounds that are already healed. If you had brought me here a few months ago… I’m sorry. It’s too late now.”

As Hank’s and Havoc’s faces fall her eyes are tearing up and Tracker wraps his huge arms around her, holding her close and murmuring soft words explaining that it is not her fault, but Erik barely registers that. All he can concentrate on is _It’s too late now_ and that image of Charles falling to the ground, a bullet buried in his back.

Without thinking any further he pushes past Hank and storms into the room, stopping dead when he sees Charles who is staring at Shots, a wide grin on the young Asian’s lips. Charles, who is just sitting there and staring. Charles, who is just sitting there _in a wheelchair_.

Erik almost feels his heart being torn apart and the overwhelming wave of guilt and self-hatred rolling through his body seems to be infinite.

He stares at Charles who is still not looking at him, having averted his gaze to look out of the window (a different window than the one he dreamed about, but still one from which you can see the white dish of the Cerebro) instead now that Shots has left.

The metalbender rips the helmet from his head as he falls to his knees, his eyes not once leaving the man he loves.

The man his mistake has left behind paralyzed.

He barely registers the sob as it is torn from his body.

“I’m sorry! Oh god, I’m so _so_ sorry!”

And finally Charles turns his head to look at him, and what he sees in those incredible blue eyes makes Erik choke.

“Well, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” And while his voice is near emotionless sadness and bitterness are struggling for supremacy in the blue orbs.

Erik is unable to think, unable to feel anything but pain and guilt, so it is probably his instincts that make him do what he has done in his dreams so often: Take everything he feels for Charles, and send it towards the telepath hoping that the other will understand what he cannot say.

There is no twitching eyebrow this time, and now lovely smile as the younger one looks at him.

“I tell you I love you and the next day you leave me behind, with a hole in my back.” His voice is bitter.

Erik thinks _I know you can’t forgive me, I know that, and it’s alright, I deserve it, I know that too, but please – I just want you to know what you mean to me and that I never wanted to hurt you and-_

His desperate string of thoughts is interrupted by Charles’ sigh, and the rolling of those beautiful eyes.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says, exasperated. “Shooting me, at least. I forgave you right away, because, Erik – I know that it was an accident, and I love you. I would forgive you lots of things. But what I haven’t forgiven you is that you made me believe you wanted to be with me forever, that you told me pretty stories until I admitted to you how much you really meant to me, how I loved you and never wanted you to leave me… and how you _did_ leave me the next day.” _That hurt far worse than the bullet ever could._

Erik’s panic has stopped the moment he has heard those first few words, and although he still does not dare to believe it he thinks that if Charles can forgive him for shooting him, then Erik can make amends for having broken his heart because he knows, he will do _anything_ for Charles. Especially now. However, when he hears the other one continue he begins to understand what the telepath must be thinking.

“When I made you believe I wanted to be with you forever,” he begins slowly, deciding that this is the disaster site that needs to be mended first “I did so because I really wanted to. And I still do. I never…” He gulps, and oh, this is really hard for him. “I love you too, Charles. I just… I’ve never said this to anyone but my parents, and I never thought I would. Not after… you know me, Charles. You know _everything_ about me. How I… you know that you’re the only one I’ve ever opened up to after Auschwitz, and that I did it because I _wanted_ to. I wanted to give you all that you were giving me because… you made me _feel_ … I… I thought I wouldn’t have to say it out loud. That I… love you, I mean. I thought you’d know anyway. You knew me after all, so very well, and what else could this be? Why else would I have… behaved the way I did? Also… was I not screaming it at you, if only mentally? You must have heard it! How could you… how could you not believe it, and not even tell me?”

Erik is breathing hard, but he feels light – now that he has said all those things he has always wanted to say.

Charles lowers his eyes. “I did believe it,” he admits. “I just stopped believing it… after you left. Because how could I, after you turned your back on me so easily? Also… how could you love me… like… like _this_?” He moves his head in a way that indicates he is talking about his paralysis, and the wheelchair; and his lips are a white, bitter line.

“There is nothing in this world I regret more than leaving you,” Erik swears. “I… I figured that you could never keep loving me, after… after what I’d done. I wanted to spare you the awkward breaking up, so… I… I began to doubt it, after some time. I wanted to return here, to give you that choice instead of taking it from you but… I was too much of a coward.” And Charles surely knows what it means for him to admit this. “Also… Charles… how could I possibly not love you?”

The telepath stares at him then, kneeling on the floor as he still is, and there is something that might be hope in the striking blue eyes. Suddenly what feels like knocking at his mental door resounds in his head and he knows, this is Charles asking to be let in. This is his chance to show the other that, no matter how much he may have wavered, his love never did. This is the moment he has been waiting for in all those months.

And he rips that mental door open and almost pulls Charles into his mind, shoving everything he feels, everything he is, everything he wants to be – for _him_ – at the telepath until breathless, relieved pearls of laughter resound in his mind and he is met with a wave of fear and pain and self-doubts and _love_ and he realizes that this is Charles’ answer, that he is now being showed everything the other one feels and felt, and, oh, _I love you!_

“I love you, too,” Charles murmurs against his skin and Erik realizes the telepath has moved to where he is kneeling, pulling his face up towards his own.

And unlike in the dreams he does not hesitate a moment to kiss the man he loves, because he has spent months longing for those lips and now he finally does not have to deprive himself of them. Charles is fairly clinging to him, his arms around the older one’s neck and his fingers buried in the shirt and he is shaking (the kiss is tasting a little salty, actually, but Erik does not mind that), trying to press himself against the metalbender as well as he manages to.

Erik finally stands up, never letting go of the other and their lips still dancing desperately. He simply scoops the younger man up and into his arms, holding him against his own body and carrying Charles who does not even seem to mind that to one of the chairs waiting for visitors.

He sits down, the telepath on his lap and his uncontrolled legs on either side of his own. One of his arms holds the slender hips in place, since they can no longer do it themselves, and the other is holding Charles’ torso against his, like iron ropes. Actually…

When he hears the soft snicker and feels the curving of those lips beneath his own he realizes that, indeed, every long piece of metal in the room has wound itself around them, holding them together.

Erik clears his throat and feels the heat rise to his cheeks as he commands them to return, seamlessly assimilating once again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes closed with embarrassment.

A soft hand caressing his cheek makes him open them again, only to stare into Charles’ which are so incredibly close. “Don’t be,” is whispered against his lips. “I… I’m relieved that I can still make you feel this way.”

An image appears in Erik’s mind, of him kissing Charles senseless after the younger one had helped him move the dish. He had still been _between rage and serenity_ and his control had been precarious, especially with Charles _finally_ pressed against him the way he had been. When they had parted the telepath, too, had laughed softly as he found himself held in place by what looked like all kinds of metal the mansion had to offer, some windows having been smashed when Magneto had called them to his side. He remembers how his heart had almost burst, seeing this – the material he felt so connected to, wrapped around the man he loved so much.

He had felt in ways he had never thought possible then, and now he knows how Charles had felt, for this is his memory, those are his emotions burning high in Erik’s mind.  
There is nothing he can do but kiss the younger one senseless again, and revel in the feeling of how much the telepath had _enjoyed_ that.

Jesus.

(He does use that name for swearing, yes.)

Charles slowly releases his lips then (but he does not loosen his gaze) and moves to sit up straight on Erik’s lap, now staring down at him. His blue eyes bury themselves in the older one’s and despite the kiss having ended Erik finds that he has still trouble breathing.

He worries a little when a drop of water breaks away from one of those beautiful eyes, but is relieved when he sees the tear catch at lips curved into _that_ smile – finally.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and this time he is the one to bury his face in Charles’ chest.

“I know,” the younger one murmurs, and then-

“ _Never_ leave me again. Please, Erik! I… I don’t think I… could take it.”

 _There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Charles. And I’ll stay. I promise,_ he thinks and he knows that the telepath has received it when a short, breathless laugh resounds and lips press themselves into his hair.

“I like this,” Charles admits. “Being the taller one for once.”

Erik chuckles, but then he remembers what the furball had yelled at him, before – what had hit him so hard. He gulps. “Hank… Hank said you didn’t care anymore.”

“Of course he did,” Charles immediately affirms and Erik freezes, a shiver of panic running down his spine. “Do you have any idea how infinitely _angry_ he is at you, for leaving? Also, he probably wanted to keep you from me. I was a little… fragile those last months. Especially when it came to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Erik murmurs, panic replaced by guilt.

“You hurt all of us,” the younger one admits. “But that’s alright, if you come back. You hurt us because we love you, and we never wanted you to leave. The kids may… set at defiance for a while, but they’d do a lot if only to make you stay. As would I.”

“I’m going nowhere,” he promises.

The guilt is still weighing heavily, but at the same time he is ridiculously happy. He has gotten so much more than he deserved. Just like in the drea-

“-this is not a dream, right?” he suddenly asks, panicky. This just _cannot_ be another one, please!

Charles laughs, and it’s a little sad. “If it were a dream it wouldn’t hurt that much,” he murmurs and Erik knows, the telepath has had those dreams, too. He also knows that there is still a lot to atone for, but that Charles really has forgiven him and wants nothing more than for him to stay.

“Come,” he murmurs treacherously softly, after a glance at the window reveals the utter darkness outside. He has no idea how it is possible that so much time has passed, but, frankly, he does not care.

Easily he lifts Charles as he rises, waiting for a moment for the blood to rush back into his feet. When they have stopped tingling – it is the telepath who looks embarrassed now, but Erik kisses it away – he makes for the door, commanding the wheelchair to follow them.

The corridor is empty.

“Hank probably showed them rooms, and told them to leave us alone,” Charles mumbles from his place in the crook of Erik’s neck, sounding ridiculously content there.

Erik does not mind it, at all.

“Whereto?”

“Next door on the left side,” is the murmured answer.

One should think that was a way easy enough to find, but the lips nipping at the sensitive skin of his neck are rather distracting. As is the tongue that follows after.

Erik rushes into the room, the door slamming shut behind them and locking itself, while he and Charles tumble onto the bed. For a moment he freezes, afraid he might have hurt the other, but then a rather impatient voice resounds in his mind.

_Stop fretting and be a good boy. Now._

Well, who would he be to deny himself what is so freely given?

 

Charles still manages to rest his head on Erik’s chest afterwards, like he used to, and their legs are still tangled. Even if the telepath cannot feel it.

The metalbender is still occupied with returning the bed frame into its original state when a soft kiss is pressed against the skin over his heart. “I’m glad you came back.”

“So am I.”

“Hmmm.” The younger one hums contently, his eyelids already dropping.

“Someone should send Azazel, to pick up the others,” Erik recalls sleepily while his fingers (of the hand attached to the arm that is wound around his beloved, for the other one is occupied by said beloved’s hand) draw lazy circles onto the slender hips. “You’ll like Tequila. He’s quite intoxicating.”

Charles smiles treacherously softly, and Erik knows that the man he loves has understood what this means: That he is staying.

For good.


End file.
